Dead Eyes
by Gallifrey Immigrant
Summary: Margaret ends up finding a way to relive her life with her husband, but will it be at the expense of her daughter? And can the Sixth Doctor and Evelyn find out the secret of Margret's mysterious painting before it's too late?


Her name was Margaret Milton. You could call her Maggie for short, but only if you were her friend. She was a coloured woman, back in the 1870s, when that still meant everything to the world. (Some might argue it still does, but that's neither here nor there.) She had seen a lot of bad things in her youth—mothers being separated from their children for a few extra dollars, cotton cutters being literally worked to death, and even worse sights—but she had survived. And now, in the North, she was the sole owner of an estate. It wasn't the biggest one, but it was hers, and she cherished her house almost as much as she cherished her young daughter, Chloe. Margaret could hear her angel move about in her bed upstairs. Chloe had been getting sicker and sicker these days, and her sleep had been getting equally worse. As Margaret sat in her wooden chair, in front of that old painting of her dead husband, she wondered what could be wrong with her child—at first she thought it was just stress, but... (As she was pondering this, she thought she heard what sounded like Ms. Mckensie's wheezing cough. But Mckensie had never coughed that loud before.)

Then she heard the sound that heralded what came every morning. Smoke began to pour out of the painting, and filled the room. Chloe's movement began to sound even more violent. Margaret almost went to check on Chloe, but she remembered that she had been told she had to stay in the chair for this to work. The smoke filled up the room completely, and then began to contract and take a form. Soon, it was in the shape of a man, and the smoke shape smiled at Margaret and went to embrace her.

A knocking sound came from the door. Margaret's eyes went wide, and in a pleading tone, said to the apparition, "Please don't go! I'll call them off, !" But the apparition had already disappeared.

Margaret sighed, and then composed herself. After all, he'd be back tomorrow. Another knock came. Margaret went to the wooden door, and, turning the knob slowly, looked outside. Dawn was just starting to peak through, so she wasn't expecting visitors. In front of the door was a white man with an unruly curl of yellow hair. "Hello, are you a freed slave?" he asked good-naturedly.

Before Margaret could even answer, another white woman, wearing glasses, walked up to him. Glaring at him, she said, "You can't just ask people if they're freed slaves! That could be dangerous in some places and times, and plus, it's impolite!"

The mop-haired man folded his arms, and said "Well, Evelyn, you said , and I quote, 'it would be nice to see talk to actual freed slaves and see what they had to say back in the day, as opposed to reading so-called autobiographical documents filtered through all sorts of biases.' So excuse me for asking around for what we're looking for. And I'm never impolite, mind you." Margaret suddenly realized that the man was wearing one of the worst coats she had ever seen in her life.

"Never impolite, Doctor? You could have fooled me," said Evelyn. Noticing that I was still holding the door open, she said "Sorry for that. He sometimes forgets the niceties." (The man snorted, but said nothing.) "I'm Eve-"

'Evelyn. And he's Doctor something," Margaret finished for her. She knew she was being a little rude, but she didn't know these people, and at such an early hour, she didn't care.

"Just the Doctor," the man said. "You figured out our names fast...you've got a quick mind. I once met a group of Snail people called the Mullloskian Ruffians, now they, unlike you, were slow as mollasses." Margaret thought he had stopped rambling, and then he continued, "then I met the Mollasses people-"

"Doctor, I'm not sure people in the 1860s talk about snail people in the wee sleeping hours. Can't you see it's barely morning? Everyone's asleep now," said Evelyn.

"Except for her," the Doctor said. "Why are you awake?"

Margaret looked back at the painting, and realized she had to lie. "I couldn't sleep, so I woke up early."

The Doctor looked at Margaret with his bright blue eyes, and Margaret was suddenly reminded of her grandmother—someone with years of experience, who knew when someone was lying, but "ya ain't ready to tell the truth, I ain't gonna force ya. Just gonna smile and wait till ya ready to be honest.".

The Doctor smiled a big grin, and said "Evelyn, let's go explore elsewhere, shall we? But, first, has anything odd happened at your home, lately"

"No," Margaret said, just a little too quickly. "In fact, I think it's time for you to go."

"Mom/" said a young girl's voice. I turned around and saw Chloe looking at me. "Who are they?'

" I'm sorry if I woke you up, dear. These are just some people at the door, who are about to leave. Are you feeling okay?" said Margaret.

"Actually, I feel just fine" said Chloe. She had a big grin on her face. But her body looked ragged, like she hadn't got sleep for days, and her red sleep clothes contrasted badly with the sickly pallor of her skin. Something was apparently very wrong with the child.

Margaret turned to the Doctor. "You say you're a doctor? Could you help my daughter, Chloe? She's been feeling ill lately, and I'm sure it's just a cold, but..."

"Mother, you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine, honest," Chloe said.

"Oh, it's no bother to me at all," said the Doctor."Evelyn and I would be delighted to assist."

"Thank you so much," said Margaret. "Go to your room, he'll examine you there."

As Chloe went upstairs, Evelyn looked at Margaret quizzically. "We could have just examined her here!"

Margaret did her absolute best to ignore the painting while thinking of an excuse. "Oh, I've just cleaned and don't want to get the floor dirty."

Evelyn nodded and walked upstairs. The Doctor ,meanwhile, was observing the painting intently.

"Interesting portrait," he said. "Where did you get it from?"

"From my dead husband," she replied, "and he got it when his mother's house burnt down."

"Hmm," said the Doctor. She waited for him to elaborate, but he kept his musings to himself and began to walk to the stairs.

"Let's see what's has upset your daughter's well-being!" he said with cheer.

As Margaret and the Doctor walked upstairs, the spirit within the painting watched them go, and planned.


End file.
